Just a Game
by OppaiSamurai
Summary: Artorias loves Ciaran, but he's taken too long and she's moved on...or has she?


**Posted this on ao3. Apparently, I didn't on here. Enjoy.**

At times like these Artorias was forced to acknowledge how in some ways gods were quite similar to humans. In many ways, they were vastly different. Gods, for example, had the strength of at least ten human men. Additionally, most gods - like Artorias himself - had colossal bodies. There were some exceptions of course, but usually, those with small figures were blessed with some trait that more than made up for their lack of height. Gwyndolin had his magic, Ciaran had her amazing stealth and swift reflexes. The thought of Ciaran made his heart tighten and twist. Periodically, Artorias suffered from emotions that his lessons as a child declared only petty humans did. Violent anger, the sweet kiss of envy. He clenched his teeth. The anger was swelling in his chest, potent and bitter and all-consuming...

Ciaran. My love, if only you had waited just a bit longer...Why, Ornstein?

All those "mortal coils" that his teacher told him about, he witnessed firsthand for himself. He wondered if the others suffered these feelings too, but were just too determined to keep up a facade that they were "Superior" and above such things.

Exhausted, the knight staggered into his bedchamber, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him. Suddenly drained, Artorias swore his body would crumble if he was forced to take even one more footstep. Mercifully, he was under no such obligation. Oh, how he ached…The towering knight had just returned from a long, gruesome journey and Gwyn had reluctantly allowed him an interlude of peace and rest before he was sent out once again. Only when he saw the comforting familiarity of his chambers did he realize how much he needed this.

Artorias lay his enormous greatsword aside with ease, face creased with exhaustion beneath his intricately carved helm. He was suddenly aware of the discomfort his armor brought him. Slowly, he removed the dense hunks of the sculpted silver plate and heavy blue fabric, resting them on the armor rack at the foot of his bed. It took a lot of will not to just collapse into the soft, feather bed and rest until Gwyn had a new task for him. However, there was some business he had to take care of before he slept.

He trudged reluctantly towards the bathroom, rubbing at his muscled abdomen with a yawn. It was strange being home. Being able to clean himself in a bath, and not a river or pond. Not that it mattered. Bathing didn't hold a meaning for him anymore. Where he was cleaning himself, how dirty he was, what did it matter? Truly, it didn't. Once one has bathed in the blood of another, no matter how malicious the victim, they never felt clean again.

He chuckled dryly at the thought of "home." Anor Londo was where he resided sure, along with the other Knights of Gwyn and many, many other gods, but…Home? This is my home no longer. Not after-

Artorias snarled aloud. He didn't want to think about it! Not now, not ever. He forced a tidal wave of dark thoughts away as if they were an opponent he was grappling with. The feelings subsided, brought down by an iron will. Now calmer, Artorias gazed at himself in the washroom mirror. Much to his dismay, a silver strand of hair had grown amongst his dark, long black locks. A gray hair? The journey had certainly aged him. His hair had grown quite unruly during it; he would need to cut it soon. His beard would have to be trimmed as well. Every time he left on an excursion he returned a slightly different man. He was growing stronger in many ways. Body coated with fresh wounds, soon to be scars, forever carved into his flesh. His will, too, was becoming sturdier. All for her. Again, he felt a surge of wicked emotions threaten to overtake him. He found focus in the mirror, in himself.

The tall Knight touched his rib cage, where a long, clean pink cut lay. He had thought he was going to die out there. In the wilds. A small, dragon-like creature had slashed his chest open, leaving a horrendously bloody cut that even estus had difficulty healing. It had caught taint, and been infected for a week, but thankfully, it was clean and mostly healed now. Though he would speak to some of the healers in Anor Londo just to make sure.

As he was gazing at himself, picking out which scars and cuts were fresh and which were from the past there was a knock at his bedroom door. Evidently, he had company.

Reluctantly, the huge man pulled a shirt over his broad chest and a pair of trousers up his long legs. On the other side of the door, a golden-armored knight was standing, with straight ginger hair flowing down to the middle of his back. He was a handsome man, with a sharp, angular face and green eyes that made women melt.

Artorias tensed at the sight of him. He knew this man well. He was called "Dragonslayer Ornstein", and was an incredibly powerful warrior despite his rather feminine appearance. The leader of the Knights of Gwyn, he was charismatic and intelligent. Until today, he had been a brother to Artorias.

"Welcome back, Knight Artorias!" The man beamed, bowing dramatically. He had a flair for the dramatic.

Mutely, Artorias gazed back at him. He had heard from Gwynevere, Gwyn's daughter who knew everything that happened in Anor Londo, that things that had transpired in his absence. He knew of this man's betrayal. A great sorrow filled Artorias at the thought, and tears began to bloom in his eyes. For just a second, he was the boy he once was. Quick to cry, a runt, soft-spoken. Just a second, though. Anger filled him. That was no longer true. He was a man now.

He blinked away the prickle of potential tears and cleared his throat firmly.

"Greetings, Dragonslayer Ornstein." Artorias stepped aside to let the slightly shorter man pass, where he then stood facing him. Artorias pushed the door shut, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He clutched his knee to keep his hands from shaking, swallowing.

Ornstein gave him another brilliant smile. "It's been too long, my brother. How was your journey? You took so long I worried I'd never see you again."

Artorias grunted quietly, "Violent, tiring. I have grown accustomed to it, however." His pale blue gaze ran up and down the other man, calculating. His mouth was a firm, straight line. Ornstein seemed to sense his toxic, exhausted mood and shifted from foot to foot. His jolly expression disappeared, a nervous one replacing it. He seemed to sense the words that would come next. "And how have you been, my brother?" He spat the endearing term, voice bitter and cold. Ornstein knew his secret was out and his sun-kissed face grew pale.

"Artorias…please listen and understand…"

"Oh, I'm listening," Artorias snarled, practically leaping to his feet. On his neck, a vein throbbed angrily. "I'm listening very carefully, waiting for an explanation as to why the man I thought was my brother would do this to me!" Ornstein at least had the decency to look guilty. The red-haired warrior gazed at the floor. He didn't appear a knight at that moment, he looked pathetic and weak and pitiful. Artorias gnashed his teeth, trying to understand why he would betray Artorias like he had.

He didn't have to wonder for long.

Ornstein's voice was near whisper. "I've always admired her. She was lonely...she came to me and I was too weak for her to refuse. Forgive me…" Artorias's eyes widened. She had gone to him? Unbelievable! The image forced its way into his brain, like some vile insect. Ciaran, running her fingers through the man's ginger locks and kissing him deeply. Ornstein, pulling the clothes from her small, supple frame and gazing at all of her. For a moment, he was no longer angry. How could he blame Ornstein for doing something he would have done in the same place? Did any man have the ability to turn away Ciaran? She was impossibly beautiful, alluring. If Artorias had known Ornstein felt for her as he did, and Ciaran came to him as a mate, would he have been able to refuse? Even for brotherhood?

Artorias bowed his head, a great weariness pushing down onto his shoulders. He knew the answer.

Ornstein crossed his arms. "I'm sorry you didn't find out about this from me. That is actually what I came here to speak to you about. I wanted to be the one to tell you we are together…I thought it would lessen the impact." He sighed. "I figured Gwynevere couldn't keep her filthy, gossiping mouth shut…"

Together? The word struck a chord inside him. It throbbed, it ached. They were together? Artorias's cold blue eyes widened. They had not just slept together; they were a pair now? All understanding he could have possibly had dissipated, replaced with a bitter jealousy so powerful he couldn't possibly ignore it. "Ornstein! I thought you were my brother. You know how I feel for Ciaran! And yet you took her while I was away!?"

Ornstein held up a hand stiffly. He was tense. "You are like a brother. I meant nothing by this. It just…happened, alright? I never intended to take her from you, or hurt you, but what I feel for Ciaran is very real and very strong and I will not give her up! You never acted upon your feelings, so I acted on mine." The long-haired man was breathing heavily, green eyes dark with passion.

Artorias clenched his fists and teeth. "There are other women out there for you. For me, there is only Ciaran," he snarled, "Ornstein, treacherous bastard, you know this is true!" He flinched under Artorias's anger. Then, the lion-armored knight turned around quickly. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought.

"She's not your property, Artorias. Even if she did return your passion, you made her wait too long."

Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Fuming with rage, Artorias slammed his fist into the door, the wood splintering under the force. He was so angry. But most of what he felt was sorrow.

The knight ripped his shirt off hurriedly. He wanted to sleep and wake up. When he woke up, everything would be back to normal. Ornstein would be his supportive friend and Ciaran would still be waiting for him-His heart shattered at the thought of her. At the thought of her kissing Ornstein of all men.

Artorias was nearly in tears. He wasn't lying. Ciaran- Oh sweet Ciaran, was the only woman he had ever loved and ever would. Sarcastic, intelligent, cold, and beautiful. She was the only reason he had to return to Anor Londo, she was his reason for living, for doing his very best, for growing stronger. He had not confessed his feelings yet because he knew he wasn't powerful enough, wasn't worthy of her attention or affection! Ciaran deserved a mighty mate to settle down with. A mate who could give her strong children and then protect them. A man to properly tend to her physical needs, and devote himself to her. Ornstein was none of these things.

Guilt filled him at the thought. No, perhaps Ornstein was all of those things…Artorias lay his face in his hands, breathing heavily. Like a wave crashing over him, he realized that Ornstein and Ciaran had made love already. There was no doubt in his mind. Ciaran may not have been with anyone romantically, but she was a lustful woman. Although the thought should have enraged him, which it did, it also caused an ember of arousal to stir in his belly. He had spent so many nights dreaming of Ciaran's body against his, her mouth open as she gasped his name.

Now that soft pink mouth was whispering his name instead.

"Damn it all," Artorias whispered, before sliding under the covers of his bed, tugging them up and over his head and burying his face in his pillow. This had to be a dream…a nightmare. He would leave on another journey as soon as possible. He wouldn't be able to stomach being "home", not while those two were together. Not when Ciaran wasn't his. Maybe he'd die out there this time. Oddly enough, the thought didn't make him afraid. Truly, what did he even have to live for anymore?

* * *

One of the servant's brought breakfast to him as requested. Sausage, bread, and hard cheese with a cup of ale to wash it all down. Artorias devoured the meal, delicious compared to the rations he had been consuming since the last moon. The ale was warm and comforting. When he finished the first cup he called for another, which was brought to him with haste. It would be very easy to bury himself in alcohol and forget everything, but he was not a weak man. He would do no such thing. So the knight stopped at two cups, despite wanting more.

He slept for a while more after that, bathing in the sunlight that streamed in through the window. Sluggish after his morning nap, he found it difficult to get back up. Not to mention put on his armor. Eventually, he did. The discomfort of wearing it was gone after a good night's rest. He was surprised he'd slept at all, but it had actually been rather peaceful.

Once dressed, helm resting against his hip, Artorias left his room and took a walk. The warrior wandered the great hallways at a languid pace. Taking his time, gazing at the beautiful portraits on the walls and the statues as well. Anor Londo was the most beautiful place he had ever been. The home of Gwyn, and a huge pantheon of gods, both lesser and greater, it was full of beautiful art and beautiful people. Most of the servants were sweet-faced maidens, and knights in armor as intricate as Artorias's protected the vast halls.

One such knight, in brilliant silver armor, clapped his fist over his heart as Artorias approached. "Ser Artorias, sir?" The Silver Knight's voice was deep and strong. Unfamiliar as well, not one of the many he knew. Artorias paused.

"Yes, Ser….?" Artorias gazed at the other warrior and gesticulating with his hands. The man's face was hidden in his helm. He put his own on, uncomfortable without it.

"Vaughnberg. Gwynevere has requested your presence. Make haste, she said."0

"Well I cannot ignore the princess, can I?" Vaughnberg was silent, and still. Artorias sighed heavily. No doubt the Princess of Sunlight wanted to speak about uncomfortable matters. Ciaran, and Ornstein… "Very well. Thank you, Ser Vaughnberg." A nod was the only response. The Silver Knight turned, straightened, and didn't move again. Still as a statue.

Artorias began his search for the Princess. She was easy enough to find. He found her scooping water from a water fountain with her hands, drinking it with a serene expression on her face. At her side, the Flame God Flann was resting with his knee up on the stone of the fountain's base. The two were as always, relentlessly flirting.

Gwynevere's face lit up at the sight of him. "Arty!"

He smiled, despite himself. "Hello, Gwynna. You were right. I am truly sorry that I accused you of being a liar." He was.

When Artorias had first walked through the huge doorway of Anor Londo, after talking about his journey with Gwyn, the Princess of Sunlight had eagerly sought him out on his way to see Ciaran. She stopped him and claimed that Ornstein and Ciaran had been seen the night before, sneaking around at near midnight.

"One of the Silver Knight's saw him going into her bedchambers and then leaving quite…physically exerted."

He'd understood the implications of course. But he didn't believe her. Artorias cursed her out, calling her a hoax and a liar. The princess's words had sounded genuine though, so he'd went to his room to think on it, and that was where Ornstein had found him.

Gwynevere smiled wider, her smile radiant just like the sun that blessed her. Gently, she swept the cinnamon brown locks from her eyes. She leaned against Flann, who lovingly ran his fingers through her hair. The two made a good pair. Gwynevere with her auburn hair and red-brown eyes. Radiant, charismatic, and proud. And Flann with his head of shockingly ginger hair and dark brown skin. What he lacked in charisma he made up in size. His muscles were so large it seemed they would burst from his bronze armor at any moment.

Artorias envied them at that moment. Being able to sit together and flirt with the sun overhead, and water trickling like a sweet song besides them…Without a care in the world…He wanted that.

"You also called me a shameless gossip," The princess pouted, nuzzling into the big bear of a god, who scowled. His ultra-red eyes met Artorias, who crossed his arms and shook his head.

"That part is true. I won't apologize for that." Artorias smiled again despite his gruff tone.

Gwynevere pouted and stuck her tongue out at him. She ran her fingers through the cold water of the fountain. "So you did find out about them, then...?"

Artorias sighed bitterly. "Yes. I found out about them. I'm leaving as soon as I can."

The smile on the princess's face faded. "Leaving? You can't just leave, Arty." She sat up and raised her fingers to Flann's lips. Water cascaded down her fingers and pale arm. Artorias watched with vague interest as the man lapped the moisture from her fingertips, sensual and hungry. He felt as if he was intruding on something private.

"What reason have I to stay?" He asked, averting his eyes from the affectionate display. Gwynevere smirked knowingly.

"To win her back. This isn't enough to make you grow a backbone and confess? Now more than ever you need to be here, with her."

Artorias pulled her words apart carefully. "Ornstein is my comrade. I would not even attempt to steal his mate from him. And… if he brings pleasure to Ciaran, so be it. Despite how much it hurts. Is that all you have to say, Princess?"

"Artorias!"

'Is that all?"

Gwynevere's pleading expression grew cold. Cruel. She cast a bored, disinterested gaze up and down him. The Princess gestured with her hand. "Sure, sure. Run away now, coward." He turned to leave.

"Just one thing, Artorias…I want you to know that Ciaran will be fertile soon." Artorias's blood ran cold. His eyes widened behind his helm. He clenched his fists and his teeth locked together. "If she and Ornstein were to couple soon…who knows what could happen."

He gnashed his teeth together tighter. "That's none of my business." He stalked away before the Princess could say another word.

* * *

The training post screamed for mercy, creaking as Artorias slashed at it with a greatsword over and over. The very sturdy wood creaked, threatening to give at any moment. Sweat dripped down his body, the upper half of his armor removed and set aside as he vented his frustrations on the poor wood. Gwyn had actually refused him.

'You're needed here, right now. Apologies, Artorias." Other than that, there was no explanation…

Artorias grit his teeth and brutalized the post further. How dare the old man not let him leave Anor Londo!? What "task" waited for him here?! So absorbed in his angry actions, Artorias didn't even hear the footsteps of the person who approached him.

"What did it ever do to you?"

That voice. Amused, calm, calculating. Alluring in such a strange way. Artorias froze mid-strike, fingers tightening around the hilt of the greatsword. He turned, panting heavily. "What does it matter, Ciaran?" he asked, pushing sweat-slick hair from his forehead. Even with all the confusion happening inside of him, one thing was clear.

Ciaran was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. Nothing could, or would, ever change that. Her face was hidden by her strange, porcelain mask and as always her honey gold eyes gleamed from its depths, strange and piercing. Small, and slender, Ciaran was tiny compared to him. The assassin had her hand on one hip, both tracer's hanging from her belt.

"It matters a great deal. You won't be the one repairing or replacing it."

Artorias smirked. "Neither will you. And you're not the sort to worry over such trivial matters."

Ciaran's bright eyes found his. His heart pounded, threatening to break through his chest cavity. He wanted to take off her mask and kiss her. Wanted to hold her in his arms. "Fine." He lay the borrowed greatsword down on a nearby weapons rack. "What do you even want, Ciaran?" His tone was exasperated.

Her eyes narrowed. "I haven't seen you in moons, and last time you disappeared without saying a word! Forgive me for wanting to see you, Artorias," she spat, voice cold and clipped. Would everyone in Anor Londo treat him like this today?

"Where I go is none of your business. I'm under no obligation to tell you where I am or when I leave." The huge knight met her burning hot gaze head on. The vicious little thing was no doubt scowling behind her pretty mask. Her delicate features taut with rage, a sight he hadn't seen in a long time. Ciaran was almost never seen without her mask.

Ornstein saw her face. Saw her face alive with bliss. Heard her soft, pleased voice unmuffled by the mask.

Artorias clenched his fists and turned his gaze away. If Ornstein made her happy, he should be happy for her. He'd never confessed his feelings, he had no right to be angry, "I…It's good to see you again," Artorias murmured tentatively. "I'm sorry for being so tense with you…It's just strange being back here, and not out there."

Ciaran hmphed, but her stiff posture became more relaxed.

He stiffened as she drew closer. Her fingers –no gloves, he noticed- ran across the hair on his face. "A beard?"

"Didn't exactly have the time or tools to keep my face hairless," Artorias murmured.

"Look at me."

Her calculating gaze and imposing touch ran across him. He looked at her. Ciaran placed her hand on his broad chest, gentle. Almost lovingly, she brushed her fingers across the muscles she found. He shivered at her touch. Between his legs, he stiffened. He thanked the flame that he decided to wear his armor and not trousers today.

She gazed back at him. "So many scars, Arty…" Her fingers stopped on the one that had struggled to heal. He wondered if she sensed how painful this one had been for him.

"I'm fine," he whispered. It took all of his strength not to fall to his knees before her. Not to beg her to take him instead of Ornstein. Instead, he tugged her closer and wrapped his arms around her, bending at the knee. "Thanks for checking up on me, as usual. But…you're with Ornstein now. You really shouldn't be touching another man."

For a moment, she didn't say a word. The next second she was gone. Disappearing around a corner. Perhaps she, just like Ornstein, wished to tell him the situation herself. Artorias glanced at the training post. And sighed.

* * *

Eating dinner in Anor Londo was always an amazing sight to behold. All the gods, sisters and cousins and brothers and kin to Gwyn, sat in the massive dining hall and feasted on the huge assortment of food's brought to them. Admittedly, Artorias enjoyed joining them. Hawkeye Gough cheered upon catching sight of him.

"Aye! Artorias, my friend!" Gough slapped the cushion beside him. The positive energy of the room rejuvenating him, Artorias nodded eagerly and smiled. He sat next to his huge friend, a literal giant, and another of the four Knights of Gwyn. Nearly blind, the man never stopped smiling. It was difficult to be in a mad mood near someone like him. "It's so good to see you!"

Artorias nodded. "And you, Hawkeye."

His arm snaked around Artorias, who was fully armored once again. "Boy! Have you confessed yet?"

Artorias's smile faltered. "It seems that's on everyone's mind today. No. I have no plans to, either. She's with Ornstein now."

Gough's eyebrows rose so high Artorias worried they might slide off his face. "That boy and Ciaran? Surely you jest…" It was apparently as shocking to him as it was to Artorias. Whatever thoughts Gough had on the matter he put to rest, however. He shook his mighty head. "A shame. Good of you, boy, to turn your romantic ambitions aside for him. You truly are the very definition of chivalry."

Gough's mouth parted in a crooked smile. Artorias blushed. It was rare to be praised by Gough. Truly, he wasn't acting so chivalrous, but the compliments still felt rather good. Someone sat on Artorias's other side.

"There is plenty of fish in the sea, as they say."

Artorias nodded. He wanted to take his mind off of it, but talking to Gough about such matters was comforting in a way. "Truly? I don't think so. Not for me."

"I thought the same thing when I was young." Artorias laughed at the image. Gough, young? The idea was ridiculous! Gough grinned. "Aye, it's true! I was young once. My friend and I wanted the same woman. She ended up choosing him, of course, I may have been young once but I've always been ugly.'

Artorias knew the story to be true. He sighed. "What did you do?"

"Well. I let him have her."

"Just like that?" Artorias filled his plate with meat, a slab of cheese, and a hunk of bread. He devoured it as he listened.

"Of course not. I screwed her brains out first, and said 'You want her, have her! Just know that while she's in bed with you she'll be thinking of me!' They weren't together for very long, as I recall." The giant burst into a fit of rambunctious laughter. Artorias couldn't help but join in.

"That can't possibly be true," he beamed. "And I'm no child Gough, I think I can handle myself. I appreciate your concern, though!" As they spoke, a cask of ale was passed around the dining hall. It reached them, and Gough cheered. Artorias grinned when the man stopped passing it down, and instead just began chugging the ale inside straight from the cask. There were some boos from other feasters further down the table. A servant hurried to bring another cask to them.

"An interesting story, Gough. It's always nice to hear about the conquests of your youth."

Artorias stiffened at the voice. Ciaran. The blue-and-silver armored knight turned in the direction of the voice. Ciaran was sitting quietly, legs crossed. Her usual mask was replaced by a half mask. The upper half of her face was hidden, while the lower was open so she could eat. Her mouth was soft and pink and small. He wanted to kiss it.

She was picking at a plate of greens. She only ate greens, never meat.

"It's truly amusing because he'll never conquer another woman again!" Ornstein laughed from Ciaran's left. Artorias scowled at the sound of his voice. Gwyn's first born son, who sat across the table, gazed at them mutely. Always a curious man.

Gough slammed his fist down on the table. "I could fuck any woman I pleased Ornstein! Human, god, giant, whatever! Though there's no guarantee they'd survive it!" He burped loudly, and proudly. "Gwynevere, you think I'm handsome, right?"

"Of course Gough, I'd sleep with you any day," Gwynevere's cheerful voice answered from down the table. Artorias burst into laughter, along with many others.

"Gough! Control yourself! And sister, have some decency. If father had been here you'd be sorry," Gwyndolin, Gwynevere's younger sibling declared. Artorias shifted uncomfortably at the sight of him. Forced to don the garments of a woman, the small and pale Gwyndolin was a mysterious god indeed. Where his older sister's area of expertise was the sun, his own was the moon. Gwyn's ill opinion of him was well known. Gwyn had wanted another daughter and everyone knew it.

Artorias smiled when Gough burped loudly again.

It was good to be home.

"Never a dull moment," Ornstein stated, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Huh, Ciaran?" Artorias shifted his gaze. His eyes widened. Ornstein leaned down, cupped the back of Ciaran's head, and pressed a kiss to her delicate mouth. He was going to be sick.

Artorias got up and was out of the huge room in an instant.

Artorias fled to the fountain Gwynevere had sat upon earlier. He was violently ill. There was too much going on inside him. Jealousy, and anger, and disgust.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't watch the love of his life spend time with that pompous prick! No, he was being far too cruel to Ornstein. Ornstein was a kind and noble soul…but Artorias couldn't stomach the sight of them together, He didn't want to! Gwynevere was right. Now was the time to declare his feelings. Now was the time to prove himself a worthy mate to Ciaran. No matter what.

He washed his mouth out with the crystal clear water. It was sweet, refreshing. The day had turned to night.

"Resolve born from envy. Look what they have done to you."

The voice was familiar, quiet. Artorias turned his head. Gwynfor. Gwyn's firstborn son. The knight gazed at him, silent as he approached. He had the same imposing figure of his father. Tall, broad. The same white hair. But his face was soft and contemplative where Gwyn's was hard and demanding. He was an intellectual, a philosopher, unlike his father.

"You are the puppet, envy your strings. Do you realize that?" Artorias stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "Ah…" the tall, fair faced god shook his head.

"My sister is cruel. I cannot watch such a game for long. Especially when it involves…him." Who was him? What game? "Confessions should be born naturally."

"Confessions and games…Speak clearly, Gwynfor. Or don't speak at all."

The man smiled. "It's all an act. Countless people, dancing and singing and smiling all because Gwynevere asked them to. Even father. I pity you. A man should find his own resolve, not be tricked."

Artorias was beginning to understand. Anger began to rise inside him. "Ciaran and Ornstein...?"

"A lie."

"The task your father said awaited me here?"

"Ciaran."

The knight went silent. He slumped against the fountain. "But…why?"

"Impatience. Fear. 'Perhaps one day he won't return,' Ciaran worried. 'I will help you,' dear sister declared.' Do you understand?"

Artorias buried his face in his arms. "Thank you for enlightening me."

"Do not hate Ornstein. He had no ill will." Then, like a breeze, he was gone.

Artorias smiled bitterly. Coward? How was he the coward when they used such underhanded tricks when they hurt him intentionally. Perhaps he was still a boy. He lay there against the cool stone for a while, contemplating. Gwynfor's words echoed in his head. Ciaran had feelings for him? It was almost too good to be true…He cleaned his mouth out some more and sighed, before heading back to his bedroom.

* * *

Ciaran was there, waiting. She was almost invisible in the darkness. The moonlight filtered in through the window was the only reason he saw her.

"That was cruel, wasn't it?" She asked in her cold, alluring voice.

"It was."

"Do you hate me?"

Artorias smiled sadly. "I fear you hate me, to put me through such an ordeal."

She got up. He was very still as she began to take his armor off, piece by piece. Gentle, cautious. 'I'm sorry, my beloved Artorias. The thought of telling you my feelings, it…it made my heart ache. I knew your feelings existed but...Everyone told me it was a man's place to confess. To approach. I don't know why but I agreed."

She wore no mask. Her hair was soft and golden, running down her delicate shoulders in streams. He sighed.

"I don't agree with that, but I was going to confess. I…I just wasn't ready. I needed to be strong enough for you, Ciaran." She sets his armor down on the stand. He's bare before her. For some reason, he's not afraid in nothing but his smalls. She runs her hands over him, just like earlier. Across planes of hard muscle, across scars that make him shiver.

"You've always been strong enough for me."

"You need a worthy mate," he protested, "someone who can take care of you. If you have babes, they need to be strong enough to protect them too!

Ciaran lay her cheek against his abdomen. "Arty! You are a silly little boy…flame, it shocks me to this day how naïve you are!" He is offended. It must show on his face because she noticed immediately. "In a good way. You're the only man I've ever met who thinks that far ahead. Children, Artorias? Shouldn't we be worried about us, first? Children come after...We make each other stronger, there's no need for you to journey all around the world just to prove yourself to me."

"I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough for you." He wrapped his arms around her. She pushed further into him.

"No, I'm sorry I was not patient."

Artorias closed his eyes and held her close to him, just enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms. His heart is threatening to beat from his chest…Her body is so warm and soft and small. Impatient, he scooped her up in his arms and raised her bridal style. She squirms and squeaks until he places her on his bed. Her hair spills out across the bed.

Artorias gazed down at her, suddenly flustered beyond belief. Her honey golden eyes are gleaming and taunting. Her lips are slightly parted, her white teeth showing from within. Despite wearing her armor, she is incredibly alluring. It's as if she's wearing nothing. His need for her threatened to consume him. He rested his hands on either side of her head, one knee on the edge of the bed.

"You and Ornstein kissed… "

"I'm sorry," Ciaran whispered. "If it makes you feel any better…he is only capable of loving men. There was no desire in our kiss." Her tan skin is soft to the touch.

"I suppose it doesn't matter…" Her brilliant smile at his response dispelled any of the jealousy that remained. He felt lighter, warmer. "You won't be kissing anyone else but me, now." Her fingers curled into his long, dark hair. Their lips crushed together. Soft, but urgent. He can't hold back a groan and he's suddenly aware of how hard he's been since he found her in his room. It was like a dream…

She moaned into the kiss, lashing the outside of Artorias's teeth with her soft tongue. He blushed but opened his mouth. He was…new to these sort of things. It embarrassed him. He can't hold himself up anymore. Artorias lands on top of her. Her hands found his throat and chest, running all along with him, gentle and coaxing. Her other soft hand pressed against his erection. He groaned. He groaned, even more, when her tongue met his, gently brushing together. His fingers tightened in the blankets of his bed.

"Artorias…" She whispered, gazing up at him. "Flame, you've always been so cute. Always been such a gentleman."

Artorias heard it in her tone. She yearned for a firmer hand. She loved the gentle side of him, but she wanted something more. And so did he. Was he really going to let his first time with Ciaran be led by her? The answer was no. This was what he trained for. He grabbed her hand, still kneading gently at his erection, and pushed it firmly down on. She got the hint and released him.

He smiled as he undid her medium-weight armor and tossed it on the floor. Piece by piece, she was revealed to him, like a present. It made Artorias's heart pound and his mouth water and his manhood throb. Finally, she was naked. The moonlight streamed in, so perfect, revealing all of her to him. Small breasts and thin hips and soft skin. He could never want another, no matter what Gough said.

"Can I…" He asked, gazing down at her thighs, which were closed tightly.

Nervously, she nodded. "O-of course…"

Gentle as can be, Artorias pushed her legs apart. The last part of her was revealed to him. He had to force back a groan. He'd only heard from other's about the treasure between a woman's legs. But it was everything he'd heard, and more. Glistening, topped by a soft patch of soft blond fur. Beautiful…he wanted to taste it. Her face grew red.

"Stop looking, pervert!" Her fists slammed into his chest and he laughed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're just…beautiful."

Her face grew even redder. "H-Have you lost your damn mind!?" She squeaked. "Hurry it up and put it in me!"

He dropped to his knees. 'You're far too small to just 'put it in'. That much is obvious."

Her eyes widened. "Artorias," her voice was growing shrill.

"Let me know if I do it wrong."

"Artorias!" She cried but went silent when the huge knight pushed his whiskered face between her thighs. He brushed his lips across the wet heat, curious. He gripped her outer thighs when she squirmed. Artorias knew enough from Gough's story about what to do next, but he wanted to take his time. He lapped gently at the wet entrance, enjoying the salty and somewhat bitter taste. Her whimpers were like an aphrodisiac, they made his head hot. He wrapped his mouth around the hardened bundle of nerves above her entrance, enjoying the way she squirmed and whimpered and begged.

Her fingers pushed into his hair and tugged. He lashed the swollen nub with an eager tongue, smirking when her fingers pulled even tighten in his hair. So much so he swore she was trying to rip the strands out. Her thighs quivered as he continued his ministrations. "Artorias…please…inside…"

He raised his hand, pressing a finger against her entrance. "This?"

Her eyes flashed with rage. "No! Artorias you know…"

Artorias did, in fact, know. He pushed his smalls off, leaving them on the ground. She swallowed as he lifted her in his arms. He sat on his bed suddenly. She whimpered when his erection pressed against her thigh as he set her down in his lap. "So then…this," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. Small, and so important to him. She gazed back at him, eyes glistening. And nodded. "I don't want to break you…so…please. I want you to lower yourself onto me. Take your time."

Ciaran kissed him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She did take her time. The assassin lowered herself on his erection, spreading slowly but steadily before him. She was wet, warm against his tongue. Against his cock, she's something else. It's …astonishing. If Artorias had known sex felt this good he would have asked her for this so much sooner. His own saliva-slick hand had been but a taste of this…

She whimpered. "You're so big…"

He smiled. "No. You're so small." His heart pounded when she smiled back, eyes warm. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she licked at his lips for entrance again. Who was he to deny her? "Ciaran you're so cute..." His voice cut off into groans as she sunk down. He was halfway inside her now. So warm…This was bliss…this was euphoria. She gasped shrilly.

"Fuck…. Artorias…"

He gripped her hips. He couldn't wait any longer. "Forgive me," he whispered and pushed his hips up to meet hers.

She practically screamed against his mouth, her nipples hard as she pushed her chest against his. Ciaran kissed him hungrily, needily, like a maddened beast. Her lips were firm and steady, as were his thrusts now. He was not an experienced man; the only woman he'd ever known was his own hand. He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his embrace.

She tore her mouth from his, throwing her head back.

Pleasure churned in his stomach as she bucked her hips against him, in a way that could only be described as riding. Her hands slipped to his stomach, firm and unyielding as she swirled her hips. He bit his bottom lip, gasping, doing everything in his power not to come right then and there. He only lasted a few more moments. Even when his seed begins to spill inside her, she doesn't stop. In fact, her urgency only increases. She slid herself up and down him, he was merely a tool for her pleasure and there was nothing more arousing than knowing that.

The sounds that spilled from her when she came could only be described as…amazing. She didn't scream, she didn't yell. Ciaran just whimpered, and writhed, her body taut with tension. Her tongue, still in his mouth, hung there loosely as if she had no control of it anymore. So he moved for her, thrusting his hips up against her as she came.

"Artorias, I love you, I love you so much!"

He kissed her throat. "I've always loved you. Always have…always will." Her orgasm tapered off, and she slumped in his arms. His cock is still inside her but softened. He smiled warmly as she gazed up at him.

They kissed gently. "I wish I'd done this sooner…I was basically a stallion to you," he chuckled.

"You're such an idiot," she whispered, burying her face in his throat.

Artorias had never been happier.

Gwynevere smiled as she gazed at Artorias, sitting by the water fountain, Ciaran rested in his lap. They were talking quietly. Every few moments they kissed. "I'd call that a success despite my annoying brother's meddling."

Ornstein sighed. "You're not the one whose getting ignored for a week. Possibly two. Maybe even three."

Gwynfor nodded his head, sitting cross-legged. "Probably four."

Ornstein groaned. "Really?"

Gwynfor ignored him but smiled.


End file.
